The Doctor, rarely contemplative, sat quietly and considered his most recent prey. Gary Knight. Founder and leader of the Coalition of Values. A moral knight in shining armor.
He chuckled, knowing he could not have planned this better. Part of his devious game included exposing followers of this self-righteous zealot and his band of hypocrites. Never did he imagine he would enjoy the good fortune of snaring the dear leader himself.
He rose, busying himself with the final details of his next production starring Gary Knight.
The Doctor kept his subjects ensconced in darkness most of the time to keep them disoriented. Prior to each new production, he provided each actor with a nutritious breakfast irrespective of the time of day.
“Can I buy you lunch?” Nick said to Burleson as he stood in front of his desk.
Vince Burleson looked up, surprised. “Sure,” he said, standing and grabbing his coat off the back of the chair.
It was 11:30, and the line was already out the door at the Blarney Stone.
“First of all,” Nick started, “I want to apologize for not being as forthcoming as I should be about this case. I’m not going to make excuses, because they’ll sound hollow anyway. I want to get you fully up to speed and get this case solved.”
Nick swallowed hard and continued. “We’ve already been through the files together, so I wanted to spend some time going through my logic flow on this, get you up to speed on what I’m thinking and where I think we should go with this. And I want to make sure I get your logic flow on this as well, see where you think we should go.”
The line had moved quickly, and Nick and Burleson found themselves at the front of it. “That one over there, boys,” the owner said, pointing to a booth in the far corner of the restaurant while he handed the menus to Nick. It was a tradition at the Blarney Stone that you sat yourself once the table came available, and you carried your own menus, too. The place had character.
“I appreciate it. I know I was pretty hard on you yesterday, and I know you know I spoke to Bosworth. I was really pissed, and I believe rightfully so. I have a lot of respect for you doing this. Thanks, I’ll be a good partner with you on this case.” Burleson smiled narrowly. Nick might have to reassess his opinion of the man. Had he been too focused on what others had said, and not enough on his own experiences? This highlighted one more failure on his part over the last three months.
Nick again had his regular chicken fried steak lunch, including that large piece of coconut cream pie to finish things off. Burleson watched in awe as he ate a salad with grilled chicken and some sort of non-fat dressing, no bread thanks.
As they discussed the case, Burleson grasped the intricacies quickly and asked pointed, intelligent questions.
“I think I’m following you on all of this. But I have to tell you, from everything I’ve seen in the files—and I’ve studied them quite extensively at this point—I’m not quite following you on the child pornography thing. I don’t see how that has any relevance to this case. Help me on this with your logic and all, will you?”
“I don’t know much what to tell you, Vince,” Nick started to snap at him, but decided they were partners on this case and he needed to explain. “It’s mainly a gut feeling. Given everything I’ve seen, it doesn’t make sense to me that this guy was simply popped by some hooker. Following off of that, I have to ask myself, what does make sense? The most logical conclusion I can draw is that this guy was into something that got away from him. A hooker that’s rolling a john and ends up killing him, that’s going to be a couple of stab wounds. This guy had forty, all over his body. Now, if it’s purely a crime of passion, then you’re going to find this guy lying in his blood somewhere—in his house, his girlfriend’s house, some bar, someplace logical. You’re not going to find this guy all cleaned up, dressed, and placed in a motel room.
“We’re dealing with something that’s more complicated. I am certain of that and would bet my pension against it. Now, if that’s true, then we have to figure out what he got himself mixed up in that would lead to this conclusion. I’m sort of a path of least resistance kind of guy. If this guy has been implicated in child pornography, even if the allegations didn’t stick, that’s pretty nasty business, and I’m guessing that’s how he ended up here.”
Burleson said, “I hear you, but my gut tells me you’ve made too many jumps in logic. I think we should—”
“Fellas, I’m really glad to have you here, truly I am,” the owner interrupted with his standard speech. “Next time you’re hungry, I hope you’ll come back. But now that you’re done, it’s time to let these other folks have a chance.”
Nick and Vince both looked toward the front door and saw that the line had not abated. Nick threw a twenty and a ten on the table, which included ample change for a generous tip, and they headed back.
As they walked, Vince changed what he was going to previously say, “I’ll tell you what. I really think you’re barking up the wrong tree. But why don’t you continue down that child porn path, and I’ll get busy trying to find the hooker who checked in for Steven Blair and see what she knows about Blair’s death. Let’s compare notes every day or so and see what we’re finding.”
Nick eyed his new partner, knowing soon he would have to admit to Burleson it was all about the video. For now, though, he would continue to hold out on his partner for reasons he could not quite articulate to himself. “That sounds right to me.”
Chief Herde knocked on the side of Nick’s cube. As Nick turned, the chief asked, “Do you have a minute?”
“Sure,” he said.
Nick had barely returned from lunch. “How about we go off campus?” the Chief asked, indicating he wanted a more private conversation.
“Of course,” Nick replied as he stood and grabbed his coat.
As they walked to the nearby Starbucks, Nick wondered whether this was business or pleasure. While it was certainly not unusual for the two of them to grab a cup of coffee, their relationship, particularly during the workday, had become much more formal since Randy was promoted to the top job in the Denver Police Department. I guess I’ll find out soon enough, Nick mused. He did.
Herde started as they stood in line and waited to order. “This is a work meeting. I need to know what’s going on with the Blair investigation.”
Nick replied, “Unfortunately, it’s moving pretty slow. We’re going down two different paths right now. First, we’re looking at the more conventional solution. We’re trying to find the prostitute who checked into the room at the Lonesome Dove Motel, the one Blair was found in. We haven’t found her, so there is something suspicious about that. She should have been easy to find. It’s like she disappeared immediately after Blair died.”
Herde nodded. “That makes sense, doesn’t it? I mean, if she killed him, then she would probably skip town, take her act on the road? She would understand if she stayed here, we would catch her.”
“You may be right,” Nick agreed, “but what’s unusual about this is no one knows who she is. In the sub-culture that is East Colfax, all those people know each other. Sally Smith—that’s the name she used to register at the Lonesome Dove—has never been seen before on East Colfax, at least according to everyone we’ve talked to. And she hasn’t been seen since. That is extremely unusual for a case like this. Typically, in these cases, and usually they’re assault, not a homicide, things go wrong and the john ends up hurt. If the person runs, and usually they don’t, actually, but if they do, typically there are several people we find immediately who know that person. We always track them down in their hometown, the place they just came from, across town hiding, or even back on East Colfax six weeks later. That’s simply the way this works.”
Herde nodded impatiently, having worked in the department as long as Nick. “Yeah, yeah, I know all of this. Tell me about the second path you’re going down.” As he said this, their coffees came up. They grabbed them and headed to a corner table.
Nick proceeded to explain
his theory about Steven Blair and his involvement in the child pornography business. He told Randy about the video he had received, his trip to Seattle and subsequent dealings with them, and, as a defensive measure, updated him on the falling out with Chief Detective Bosworth.
Herde put down his empty coffee cup and wiped his face. “Nick, you are one of my oldest and dearest friends.” This will not be good, Nick concluded. He thought they were oldest and dearest friends, but evidently that status had been revised to ‘one of.’ Easy come, easy go.
“As I’m sure you know,” Herde continued, “I have expended a fair amount of political capital protecting you over the last several months.” Jesus, Nick thought, Bosworth got to him. No, not Bosworth, he would be too prideful. It was Burleson. Bosworth was right, Burleson’s political clout exceeded Nick’s. This would be interesting.
Herde continued. “That time is over now. I’m not going to tell you how to run an investigation because that’s what you do, and you used to be damn good at it. But I will tell you this. There is not one person I have talked to who shares your thinking on how this whole Blair thing went down. If you are interested in keeping your job, you’ll get this case solved, and I mean now.
“It was interesting how you told me about the two paths you’re following. That’s not exactly the way the story was relayed to me. It seems your partner is going down one path—a path, I might point out, that everyone thinks is the right path. And you are going down another path. Nick, we’re not poets, and we do not need to select the road less traveled. We simply need to get the work done.”
As Herde opened his mouth to continue, Nick stood, grabbed his coat, and turned to walk out. Reverting to his bad decision making only shortly after finding his resolve, he turned to Herde and said, “You know, of all of this, what’s most interesting to me is that you started with, ‘you’re one of my oldest and dearest friends.’ I thought I was your oldest and dearest friend, but evidently, in all the pressures of being a politician rather than a policeman, you have decided to re-evaluate your relationships. I find that interesting, and, frankly, disappointing.
“I will follow your directive. As for me, I will thank you to do me no more favors, professionally or personally. It’s a shame I have been such a disappointment to you, and that our friendship has cost you at work.” With that, Nick Lynch turned and stormed out the door. He walked to the Sixteenth Street Mall and started a fierce march toward Union Station, approximately a mile away at the other end of ever-gentrifying downtown Denver.
Nick stumbled out of The Shamrock that night, knowing sleep would elude him but Phyllis would not. She looked down at her watch when he walked in the door, as if she did not already know the time, plus or minus about thirty seconds. Phyllis was brutal on nights like this.
She looked at him disapprovingly, “Welcome home. Did you have a lovely day?”
Nick had not made it back to work that afternoon. He walked all over downtown Denver trying to cool off. By 4:00 his feet were sore, and he had lost his enthusiasm, although not his anger, so he found his way to The Shamrock. He had been drinking ever since. At around 10:00, Bill informed him that he had drunk enough and that an Uber was waiting for him, so Nick excused himself and went home.
Feeling defeated, he attempted to go straight to bed, but Phyllis was intent on a confrontation.
“Oh no, you don’t,” she said as she moved into his path.
Nick looked at her with pleading but defiant eyes—also, very drunk eyes.
“You’re drunk,” she concluded.
“No shit,” Nick said, as he tried to maneuver around her.
“Listen, asshole, I need to talk to you,” she practically screamed at him.
“I’m drunk,” Nick said, “not deaf.” He laughed at his own joke.
“Never mind,” she said, and stomped back to the living room.
Nick looked around and saw that neither of the kids was nearby. That was good. He stumbled into the bedroom and passed out on the bed fully clothed, sleeping the drunk’s fitful sleep.
As Nick slumbered and sobered up, the fitful sleep turned to problem-solving. He worked scenarios as he slept. What about this? What about that? His ability to work through complex scenarios allowed him to consider alternatives like a chess master.
Phyllis snorted, and suddenly Nick was wide awake. He glanced at his phone: 2:33 a.m. He quickly jumped out of bed, showered, and headed to the station before 3:00.
The lights blared, and Gary Knight sat up with a start.
“Good morning, sunshine,” The Doctor announced.
“Doctor, please tell me what’s going on,” Gary begged.
The Doctor ignored the pleading, “I trust you slept well.”
“I did, thank you.” Gary was already starting to sympathize with his captor and show appreciation for the basic necessities.
“Mr. Knight,” The Doctor said, “you will be served breakfast shortly. With your meal, you will receive a script. The reason you have been brought here is to participate in a play. Please study this script closely. While there will not be many lines, you will be expected to know them. The directions are quite explicit and very clear. I shall most enjoy having you as a star in this little production.”
“What’s this all about?” Knight asked.
“I believe I explained that to you, Mr. Knight. I offer you good day.” At that moment, the small slot on the far side of the room opened, and a tray appeared with ample food and beverage. Sitting on top of the plate cover was a screenplay entitled, “Canterbury Tails: Chaucer at His Naughtiest” by The Doctor. Gary Knight grabbed the orange juice, ignoring the food. He began to read because he had little choice at this point.
Wednesday ⌁ day 10
Arriving at the office before 3:30 a.m., Nick queued the video to his Denver PD cloud account. He watched again and again as the two women assaulted Steven Blair, stabbing him repeatedly. He played it in slow motion and even froze it at times to compare what he was seeing to the coroner’s report.
Tasser jumped when the door opened, clearly surprised to see anyone in his office this early. “Nick, what are you doing here? It’s barely after 5:00. Best I recall you don’t get in until after nine on the good days.”
“Tassy, I need you to look at the Blair case again; I think I’ve found something.”
Tasser looked at him and smiled. “Welcome back, Detective Lynch.”
Nick smiled, too, handing him a copy of Blair’s autopsy report.
“What was it you wanted to know?”
“I’ve come across some evidence that makes me think this guy might have been stabbed by two different people, with two different knives. Can you tell from the autopsy report whether the wounds were caused by one knife or two?” he asked.
Tasser furrowed his brow. “In a case like this, it’s not something we would have looked for. This one seemed cut and dried, like most of them, so we wouldn’t have done anything so elaborate as to ascertain that. But hang on a second.” Tasser started flipping pages, then pulled a number of pictures out of the folders.
“Good, I found what I was looking for.” He laid the pictures on an empty table and studied them for several minutes with a magnifying glass, then pulled out a tiny ruler, measuring, and grunting happily.
“Come look at this,” Tasser said, looking up. “While this would not hold up in court, I’m almost certain these wounds came from two different knives.”
Nick took the magnifying glass and observed the wounds on Steven Blair’s deceased, naked torso. He could not ascertain anything.
“The entry angles suggest two right-handed people on either side of him stabbing him, likely at the same time. As you can see, there are wounds on both sides of the torso. But if you look closely, the wounds on the right side of his body—the left side of the photograph—are slightly larger than the wounds on the other side.”
“But with any knife, if you stuck the blade in further, wouldn’t what we’re seeing here be wider?” Nick
asked.
“Precisely. And that is exactly why we could not introduce these in court as evidence of two knives; we would be butchered, so to speak,” Tasser said, laughing heartily at his pun. “But I can tell you from having done a zillion of these, this was two people with two knives. I probably should have picked that up in the autopsy, but I didn’t. That’s a miss on my part, and I hate that. I just wasn’t looking for it. But now there is no doubt in my mind. The wounds on each side are similar but are quite different from those on the other side. Two knives, probably two people.”
“Now here’s the hard part,” Nick said. He pulled out a flash drive and explained its contents. “If this video really shows Blair’s death, then the stab wounds on the video should match the stab wounds on Blair.”
Tasser nodded. “That’s absolutely right. Why don’t you leave that with me? I’ll have one of the technicians print out several shots of the assault off the video and see if the wounds match. I’ll be back with you later today, tomorrow at the latest.”
Tasser prattled on for several minutes about all that had to be done. Nick mocked attentiveness but allowed his mind to wander, considering where things were going with Jenny. After a period, Tasser concluded.
“If you need us to exhume the body, then get on it—you know that paperwork is a horror show.”
“Sure, Tassy,” Nick said excitedly. “I’ll let you know. Thanks for your help on this.”
Tasser said, “Nick, I’m glad to see you at five in the morning. It means you’re getting back into your work. That’s good.”
(twenty-three months earlier)
“I’ll pay you the $1,000,000 right now,” Mike Smith said. “On one condition.”
Snuff Page 13